Tainted
by TiTivillus
Summary: The boys are investigating a new case based on the seven deadly sins, when Sam starts suffering from inexplicable symptoms and a race against the clock for his life begins. Hurt!Sam. Protective!Dean. Season 10.
1. Wrath

**Title:** Tainted

**Summary:** _The boys are investigating a new case based on the seven deadly sins, when Sam starts suffering from inexplicable symptoms and a race against the clock for his life begins. Hurt!Sam. Protective!Dean. _

**Warnings:** rated T for the usual graphic violence and language

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the characters or the show. Just playing around.

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><p><strong>Chapter 1 – Wrath<strong>

The rusty creak of the Impala's door ripped Sam out of his peaceful slumber, causing him to jump up in his seat, heart beating wildly in his chest.

He squinted up against the blinding light that filtered into the classic car from the outside and found the source of his disturbance in the form of his grease-smeared brother.

"Where are we?" Sam asked tiredly, running a hand over sleep-crusted eyes.

Dean settled the gas pump back into its holder and wiped his smudgy fingers on his jeans.

"Gas station. What's it look like?" the older brother gave back with an implied _'duh'_ in his voice.

Sam rolled his eyes "Yeah, I can see that, Dean. I meant geographically…"

"About an hour from Wichita," Dean stated, before shrugging out of his jacket and throwing it on the back seat of their car. "I'm heading in to pay. You need anything from the store?"

Sam shook his head and watched his brother's retreating back, realizing he must have slept for quite some time if they were already in Kansas.

A quick glance at the watch confirmed his suspicion. It was half past four; meaning his brother had been driving for over 5 hours now, with this being his first stop since they left the motel in Little Rock.

A pang of guilt settled in Sam's gut at not having woken up sooner to offer his brother some release from his job as designated driver.

Especially knowing that Dean's back was still giving him trouble from a particularly vicious fall he had taken on their latest hunt.

Sam didn't even want to imagine what his brother's tense muscles must feel like after 5 hours of staying in the same position.

Deciding to at least take over the last bit of their route, Sam opened the passenger door, ungainly legs unfolding from their cramped up position as he climbed out of the car.

He was just about to throw the door back into its lock, when somebody roughly barged against his side, causing him to lose his balance and topple over into the side of the Impala.

"Watch it, you fucking asshole!" the stranger who had bumped into him sneered and Sam's eyebrows shot up to his hairline at the guy's audacity.

Shouldn't _he_ be the one yelling?

Squaring his shoulders, Sam took in an intimidating stance, straightening up to his full height and staring the stranger down with a burning glare.

A few years ago he would have probably babbled an apology to the enraged man just to avoid an escalation, but a lot had happened in between and Sam was no longer the shy, self-conscious kid he had been when he left college all these years ago.

"You were the one running into _me_, asshole. Maybe you should watch where you're going before getting offensive."

Spending practically all his life on the road had taught Sam a lot about different personas and types of characters one should avoid at all cost. But the occasional bar fight or verbal shout-off was something both he and Dean had come to accept as a part of their lifestyle.

You couldn't be a conman and expect to live a life free of trouble.

But this? This was completely unwarranted aggressiveness from a total stranger and Sam wouldn't take it.

The man in front of him didn't look like he fell into the category of 'people to avoid at all costs' and he certainly didn't look like he had a whole biker gang waiting around the corner to back him up in a fight.

That didn't keep him however, from being incredibly stupid.

Stepping right up into Sam's personal space, the guy lifted his chin daringly. "We got a problem here, _stretch_?"

Sam's body tensed and he snorted in amused disbelief. Did this guy have a fucking death wish or something?

Sam really didn't want to start a fight out here in the middle of a gas station, attracting unwanted attention, but this bastard was pushing it.

Lucky for him, Dean chose that exact moment for making his reappearance. "Sam?" his brother asked in a wary tone, immediately sensing the palpable tension between the two men in front of him. "What's going on?"

"Nothing," Sam bit out with a pointed look towards the stranger. "Nothing at all. Let's get going…"

He was trying to be reasonable here, but the guy didn't let up.

"Yeah, _pretty boy_. Listen to your boyfriend and stay the hell out of this. Wouldn't want to get your girly face bashed in, would we now?"

Dean's eyes widened visibly at the threat, taken aback by the guy's blunt aggressiveness.

Sam's eyes on the other hand, narrowed in anger. Because while he would have let the guy's earlier comments slide, an outspoken threat against his brother was something he couldn't brush off quite as easily.

Locking his jaw, Sam took an intimidating step forward and stabbed his index finger into the guy's chest.

"I don't know what's wrong with you," Sam huffed, shaking his head at the guy's stupidity. "And I honestly don't care. But you're starting to _seriously_ piss me off. And believe me when I say that you don't want to make me angry."

A smug grin spread on the guy's lips at Sam's obvious aggravation. Now that he finally found leverage to get the rise out of Sam, he was going to use it to his advantage.

"Gotta defend your boy's honor, huh?" he snorted derisively, spitting a glob of saliva onto the ground between them. "I bet he's a real good bitch for y-"

And that was it. Sam surged forward, grabbing the guy by the lapels of his jacket as he slammed him against the gas pump with a little more force than necessary.

"Shut your goddamn' mouth," Sam hissed, whole body coiled tight in anger and tension.

"Sam, calm down…" Dean intervened from the side, resting a placating hand on his shoulder.

He sounded about as tense as Sam felt, but remained level-headed, aware of all the strangers that had started staring at the scene they were causing.

Sam wanted nothing more than to punch this guy into oblivion, but the heavy palm resting against his shoulder grounded him to reality.

"C'mon Sammy, he isn't worth the trouble."

Sam snorted, taking a step back and letting go of the stranger with a last warning jostle to his shoulders."Get out of my fucking sight _now_, or he won't be able to hold me back. Understood?"

The man's nostrils flared in anger, his eyes sparking with silent fury as he considered his options, looking from Sam to Dean and then back at Sam.

Finally he seemed to realize that the odds weren't looking too good for him.

"Fucking fairies," he spit out over his shoulder before rushing off to his own car and getting in.

Sam took a shuddering breath to calm his raging heart and tried to comprehend what had just happened.

"What _the hell_ was that?" Dean asked, with open bafflement in his voice, watching angry-guy's Porsche pass over the exit ramp.

"Was that… did we just get… _gaybashed_?" Dean looked mortified at his own suggestion.

Sam shrugged, having no better explanation for the stranger's aggressive behavior himself. "Beats me. I mean it wasn't even like we did anything that would suggest-"

Dean shot Sam a warning glare, daring him to finish the sentence. Because they never did anything to suggest that they were more than brothers or simple buddies, yet people still seemed to assume that they were having their wicked ways with each other when nobody was looking. Not that being gay was wrong or anything, but they were _brothers_, for heaven's sake. Was that really so hard to understand? It wasn't like they were running around holding hands or anything… so why would people even think-

Sam sighed, rubbing his temples to soothe the oncoming headache. "When the whole thing started, you weren't even around, Dean. There's a very real chance the guy didn't even know we came here together until you showed up and he was already getting in my face before that."

"So what, he was just looking for a fight, is that it?" Dean frowned and Sam found himself nodding in answer.

"Yeah," he breathed. "Yeah, I think that's exactly what he was doing. He seemed… angry. Almost livid."

"He touch you?" Dean asked with a hint of protectiveness in his voice, before scanning Sam's body for any potential damage.

Sam's skin was prickling beneath his older brother's concerned gaze. "I'm fine, Dean… Who knows, maybe he was on drugs or something. Let's just get moving, alright?"

Dean's expression turned a little skeptic at the obvious blow-off, but he didn't say anything.

Just as he was to sit back down in the passenger seat, Sam remembered the reason why he had gotten out of the Impala in the first place. "I'm driving."

Dean's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Uhmm… no, you're not."

Not in the mood for debates, Sam shot his older brother a warning glare, stretching out an arm over the hood of the Chevy and wriggling his fingers. "Gimme the keys, Dean."

"You're angry Sam. You just almost came to blows with some dude at a gas station and you wanna drive? Sorry, but no. You're too agitated."

Sam bristled at his brother's dismissal. "Oh but you're all good to go after the 5-hours drive you just pulled? Tell me Dean, what's better, me throttling the steering wheel in anger or you wrapping the car around a tree because you're too tired to keep your eyes open?"

Dean rolled his eyes at his brother's dramatics.

"Fine," he relented grudgingly, throwing the key over the hood of the Impala and swapping places with Sam, settling against the window on the passenger side and using his jacket as a cushion.

Sam started the engine and pulled out of the gas station with ease, thankful to leave this shady place in the rearview mirror.

Just as he was steering the Impala onto the main road, something hit his thigh and Sam glanced down to find a wrapped cheese sandwich and Gatorade in his lap.

"You need to eat something," Dean said in a matter-of-fact tone and then added as if afterthought "I had a bagel and coffee when you and angry-guy were facing off."

Sam nodded his thanks before taking a sip from the Gatorade, knowing his brother wouldn't stop nagging him until he had at least some of it.

"You know what's really weird, though? The clerk at the store was kind of a jerk as well…" Dean recounted, words already slurred with fatigue.

"What do you mean?" Sam asked, instantly alerted by the news. Because two incidents with angry-for-no-reason guys in the same spot was already reason enough to be concerned if you led a life as crazy as theirs.

"He wanted to rip me off with the gas money," Dean snorted, shaking his head as if the mere attempt to deceive him was laughable. "And he called me a douche."

Sam laughed and Dean shot him a glare in return.

"That's funny to you? Thanks a lot, dude. Next time you knock heads with a stranger; I'll cheer him on instead of helping you out."

"Oh so that's what we're calling it now? Because as far as I recall, I was handling the guy just fine by myself," Sam teased, knowing his brother would have been the first to jump between them, if the stranger had been stupid enough to actually attack Sam. "In fact, I was the one defending _your_ virtue."

Dean grimaced. "Shut up," he shot back grumpily, trying to hide his angry blush by burying his face deeper in his jacket. "If anything, _you_ are the girl in this relationship."

Sam snorted out a laugh, feeling the tension slowly leave his body. It was almost ridiculous how his brother always managed to ground him through his agitation or anger.

"At least you put the fear of god into him." Dean chuckled with a glimmer of pride in his half-lidded eyes. "That was rather impressive, you know? Guy almost pissed his pants when you went all Rambo on him."

"Yeah well he deserved it," Sam gave back. Because anybody who talked shit about his brother, or god forbid, even threatened to harm him- deserved to be put into their place. Period.

"So what's this new case about, again?" Dean asked with a yawn, changing the topic. Sam shot him a skeptic look, debating whether it still made any sense to explain the case to his brother, when Dean was already two seconds away from falling asleep.

Shrugging his shoulder, Sam figured he might as well tell Dean. They needed to go through everything again anyway, before appearing at the crime scene.

"Apparently the local police found the body of a 40-year old housewife and mother, who had '_screamed herself to death'_."

Dean's nose wrinkled, a deep frown creasing his forehead. "How's that even possible?" he wanted to know. "She have a stroke or something?"

"Medical verdict stated that the reason for her death was _asphyxia_. She stopped breathing and literally used up all the air to scream her lungs out."

"Okay. Weird." Dean shook his head, rubbing a hand over his eyes like a sleepy toddler. "Sounds like the people in this city have some serious anger-management-issues."

Sam snorted. "No kidding. You wanna catch some shuteye before we get there? You look like you need it…"

No answer.

"Dean?"

Sam took a sideways glance and found his brother already fast asleep, mouth slightly opened and features smoothed out in relaxation.

With a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips, Sam settled back against the driver seat and mulled over the facts for their newest case in his head.

Something big was going on here and Sam was hell-bent on finding out what it was.

* * *

><p>"So Mrs. Caraway, could you tell us more about the night of your neighbor's death?" Sam asked the old lady in front of him with his trademark 'compassionate' voice.<p>

Dean used the woman's distraction to take a stroll through the house, while at the same time listening in on their conversation.

It was an old manor with wooden banisters and dusty chandeliers, like straight out of a horror movie.

The owner was a cat-crazy spinster with colored hair and painted nails, regretting bygone times and beauty.

Dean had taken one glance at her and left his brother to take over this part of their investigation, knowing Sam's penchant for elderly ladies (or should he say his magnetic pull on them?).

Whatever it was, he had definitely made the right decision, and not only to see his brother's pinched face as he squirmed awkwardly under the witnesses' appreciative gaze.

"You can call me Elizabeth, agent," the lady insisted with a sultry voice and Dean couldn't help the gleeful smirk that escaped him when she rested a wrinkled hand on his chest.

"Uhm…right. So Elizabeth, did you notice anything strange on the night of her death? Before the screaming, I mean…" Sam sputtered with a forced smile, body visibly tensing under her touch.

"Strange…as in…?" the woman queried with a frown.

"Weird noises, creaking doors, flickering lights…" Dean piped in from where he was standing in the living room. "Anything out of the ordinary."

"Well I'm not sure if it counts, but the dogs in the neighborhood were acting up a few hours before it happened."

Sam's eyes narrowed slightly. "Acting up?"

"Yes. Well they were barking and Mr. Abora's Chihuahua from across the street ripped free from his leash and started attacking my neighbor's Labrador. It was brutal."

Dean hid another smirk behind the huge vase he was 'inspecting', trying to shake the image of a Chihuahua trying to attack _anything_, from his mind.

He shared a brief look with Sam over the lady's shoulder, finding suspicion in his brother's pensive eyes.

"Right…uh, so apart from that, was there anything else…uhm-" Sam's voice faltered, when the woman's hands started roaming his chest. "…that seemed strange to you?"

"You mean apart from the screaming? Nothing I can think of, right now, agent Smith." She turned imploring eyes on Sam before shaking her head in sad resignation. "Annie was such a loving woman and mother; I never heard her lose her temper like that before. It was completely out of character."

Sam took a step back with an apologetic smile, stroking a wayward hair strand from his face in a nervous gesture. "Mrs. Cara-uh, Elizabeth… did you- by any chance- hear what she was saying when she started yelling?"

"Yes. I remember that she was angry about something. Furious, actually. I couldn't make out any specific words but it almost seemed as if she was speaking another language."

That caught both of the brothers' attention.

"Any idea what language that could have been?" Sam pressed, face growing somber with foreboding.

"Well I have never been into languages myself, but my last husband- _god rest his poor soul_- had a doctor in Law and he used to read these dusty old scripts from the library… I picked up a few words here and there and well…"

Dean met Sam's somber gaze over the distance that parted them, already knowing what the rambling woman would say next.

"If I didn't know it any better I'd say she was talking in Latin."

Dean languidly rubbed a hand along his stubbled jaw. "Are you sure you can't remember any particular words she used, Ma'm? Anything would help us here, really."

"You know my hearing isn't what it used to be when I was younger but… my eyes on the other hand are still able to appreciate a special treat when they see one."

As if to prove her point, the woman let her eyes devour Sam's body one more time, before Dean finally decided to take his brother out of his misery.

"I think that should be it for now, Mrs. Caraway," he stepped in from the side, breaking her gaze from his brother's uncomfortably squirming form and reaching out for a handshake.

She took it with a tight smile, looking unpleased at the interruption. "Thank you for your cooperation. We'll keep in touch if we need further information from you."

As they stepped through the doorway onto her porch, Sam took a relieved breath, visibly relaxing now that he was no longer subjected to the woman's obtrusiveness.

"Seriously, dude. What is it with you and old chicks?" Dean chuckled, shaking his head in amusement.

Sam's face twisted into the patented bitch face as he stiffly walked towards the Impala.

"Yeah yeah, laugh it up. Now what do you think about what she told us? Demonic possession?"

Dean contemplated the option before shaking his head. "Nah... why would a demon possess a host only to kill it the next second?"

"Maybe the victim was putting up a fight- trying to eject the evil spirit from its body," Sam suggested with a shrug.

Dean looked unconvinced. "Possible but unlikely. I was thinking witches, but I really hope I'm wrong."

Sam groaned inwardly at the suggestion, knowing Dean had a point. "So, police station?"

Dean opened the door on the driver side and plopped down on the leather seat of the Impala.

He started the engine with a heavy sigh, "Yeah. Let's see what else we can find out."

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><p>The Wichita Police Department was buzzing with noise; stressed officers running around, exchanging information and copying files, or talking on the phone with panicked victims.<p>

Sam's eyebrows rose in surprise the second he stepped into the tumultuous jumble alongside his brother.

"So tell me again why this case requires federal forces?" Officer Joneson, the head of department asked as he led the way to his office and closed the door after them, shutting their conversation off from the annoying background noise.

"No specific reason. Just covering all the bases." Dean explained, taking a seat in front of the officer's desk.

Sam followed suit, all the while eyeing the man in front of them with suspicion.

He had noted a hint of annoyment in the officer's voice earlier and given their current situation, he felt entitled to be a little wary.

"So can you tell us more about Mrs. Cooper's condition when you found her?"

The officer leaned back in his leather seat with a smug grin. "Shouldn't you already know all of that? Given that you read the file, gentlemen?"

"Are you suggesting that we didn't?" Dean shot back without batting an eye, always quick at repartee. "Because for a second there, it almost sounded like you questioned our integrity."

Sam lifted his chin, silently daring the officer to speak up, but the man was visibly deflating at Dean's self-assured comeback. "I didn't mean it like that."

"Well good," Dean smiled. "Then you'll have no problem answering my partner's question."

"Right." The officer turned towards Sam with a sour expression. "Mrs. Cooper's body was found dead by her oldest son, Desmond. Forensics told us that her death was caused by suffocation. Neighbors unanimously claimed to have heard the woman screaming before she died but there were no signs of a forced entry or struggle inside the house."

"So nobody was with her when she died?" Sam asked with a frown.

Officer Joneson shook his head. "Not as far as we know. Her husband was at work and the kids were at school at the time of death, we got multiple witnesses affirming their alibis. "

"Any idea who she could have been screaming at?" Dean wanted to know.

"Hell if I know," the officer gave back disinterestedly, leaving both brothers about as clueless as they were when they came to the police department.

"Well, how about you get out the photos from the crime scene so we can build our own opinion?"

"Suit yourself…" the officer gave back with a dark glower, before turning around to dig into his file cabinet.

Dean turned to shoot his brother an exasperated look, only to find Sam hunched over in his seat, pale face lined with visible tension where it had been neutral only seconds before.

"What's wrong?" Dean asked under his breath, immediately concerned by his brother's unhealthy pallor and the pinched look on his face.

He threw a brief glance towards the police officer, not wanting to blow their cover, before resting a comforting palm against the nape of Sam's neck. "You alright?"

"Yeah… just- just gimme…a minute," Sam panted, biting his lower lip while clutching at his chest with his hands.

Shit. Dean had no clue what was happening, but it sure as hell didn't look good.

"Talk to me, Sam. What's going on?"

"What's up with him?" the officer asked upon noticing Sam's pained expression.

Dean clenched his jaw at the insensitive approach and shot the officer a poignant glare. "Don't just stand there! Get him a glass of water or something. And open the fucking window."

"Dean, I c-can't...- my chest _hurts_…" Sam pressed out in between little gasps, twisting in his seat as the pain in his chest intensified.

Dean's own heart started beating frantically in his chest at the sight of his brother's distress.

"Should I call 911?!" the officer asked in a panicked voice, liquid sloshing over the rim of the water glass he was holding.

"No, I got this," Dean shot back in a clipped tone. A hospital was the last thing they needed right now. "Can you give us a minute?"

"What?" the officer asked, voice squeaking. "B-but he needs a doctor!"

"No, what he _needs_ is some space. So how about you back the hell off and leave us alone for a moment?"

The officer blanched at the sharpness of Dean's tone before scrambling out of the room in a hurry, leaving the two brothers alone.

Sam's wheezing got worse the second the officer was gone, almost as if he had been trying to hide the gravity of the situation to their unwelcome spectator.

"Alright, alright," Dean murmured, throwing one of Sam's arms over his shoulder before lifting his brother into a standing position and gently guiding him over to the open window. "Here we go, that's better. Now lift your arms for me."

Sam sluggishly tried to comply with his request, while Dean tugged the cheap suit jacket off of him, freeing him from the constricting fabric.

"M-my chest… Dean, gah-" Sam gasped, clawing frantically at the white shirt he was wearing until Dean caught his fingers with his own hands, halting his brother's movements. "H-hurts-"

"Alright, hey, stop it, I know it hurts, buddy- let me take a look at it, okay?"

Sam squeezed his eyes shut and Dean ripped the shirt open, not bothering to waste their precious time with buttons when his little brother was suffering.

His eyes widened when his eyes fell onto his brother's exposed chest.

Right there, above Sam's heart, his skin was breaking as if cut by an invisible blade, blood protruding from the gaping lines that were slowly carved into his skin.

"Shit," Dean burst out in panic, frantically glancing around the room in search for a hexbag. This wasn't good. Not good at all.

Even if they were dealing with a witch- and that was one big IF, Dean wasn't sure if he would be able to find the damn hexbag in time to help his brother.

But he had to try- he had to do something- _anything_, to save Sam from whatever was attacking him.

Just as he was about to take the room apart, Sam's finger's wrapped around his wrist, holding him captured. "W-wait. I think… I think it might have s-stopped."

Dean immediately stopped in his tracks, mouth falling open in a horrified gasp when he realized that the carved lines on his brother's chest were not just arranged in a senseless pattern but actually forming a three-letter word.

IRA.

The Latin term for 'wrath' was written squarely across Sam's chest, fresh blood quelling from the gaping flesh like crimson ink on parchment.

Dean stared at it in unadultered shock before ripping himself out of his rigor.

Then he gently prodded at the wound with shaking fingers, examining the extent of damage done to his little brother and shooting him an apologetic look when he hissed in pain at the probing touch.

"It's not deep enough to have caused any real damage..." Dean assessed quietly, nerves frayed and body shaking. "Just...just broke the skin on the surface."

Sam bit his lower lip, looking utterly miserable. "Sure felt like more than just broken skin."

"You okay?" Dean asked with a shaky voice, cupping Sam's cheek with his blood-smeared fingers, a gesture that drew as much comfort as it gave.

"Yeah…" Sam breathed, eyes still glued to the word that was carved into his chest with abject horror.

When he finally looked up to meet his brother's gaze, Sam's eyes were filled with an uncharacteristic fear. "Dean, what's happening to me?"

Dean's lips opened on instinct, heart aching for a way to erase the frightened look from his brother's face, when the door to the office was suddenly ripped open and all hell broke loose.

**TBC...**

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><p><em>Happy New Year, everyone! I decided to kick off 2015 with a brand new WIP based on an old idea of mine. This is to all of you who are fondly remembering the old days of supernatural, wishing for the boys to just be brothers again and hunt monsters, carrying out their family legacy. Please drop a note if you liked it and let me know if you're up for more! Reviews always make my day :D<em>


	2. Ira

**Title:** Tainted

**Chapter 2- Ira**

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><p>Dean knew their already spectacularly crappy day had just gotten a whole lot worse when three policemen came barging into the office with their guns blazing.<p>

There was no time to think.

Dean acted on pure instinct when he pushed Sam back, taking up a protective stance in front of his brother and shielding him as much from the officers' prying eyes as from the guns they were wielding.

"Dean- what-"

"Let me deal with this," Dean cut his brother off in a sharp whisper, knowing that Sam was still rattled from getting attacked by that invisible force and not wanting his little brother to stand in the line of fire when he was weakened and confused like this.

Add to that the fact that they really didn't need anyone asking questions about the brand new embellishment adorning Sam's chest- or even worse- commenting on the fact that Sam was only half clad and looking tousled. Because- so help him god, if Dean was going to hear one more gay joke or implication about him and Sam being together like that he was going to throw punches.

"Get your fucking hands in the air!" one of the officers barked, voice filled with a mixture of fear and excitement as he inched forward, face pale and gun shaking in his sweaty grip, never once wavering from its aim on Dean's chest.

"Hey, wow, calm down and let's talk about this, okay?" Dean said in a placating tone, lifting his palms in a clear show of surrender.

The guy couldn't have been older than 25, red-blond hair cropped short and a dust of freckles covering his nose and cheeks.

He was a goddamned rookie, so much was for freaking sure.

"Look, I don't know what you think you're doing, pointing a loaded gun at two investigating FBI agents, but you've got to know that it won't end well for you if you shoot us-"

"Shut the hell up and step away from him!" the young man hissed, taking an intimidating step forward and Dean's whole body tensed at the sudden movement.

Adrenaline cursed through his veins and his heart was beating frantically in his chest as his gaze was glued to the trembling fingers the red-haired officer had wound around the trigger of his gun. They were shaking so bad that the slightest sound or movement could have startled the man into firing.

"_I said step aside!_" the guy barked out in a sharp and commanding tone, lifting the muzzle of his gun until it was aimed at Dean's forehead.

"Dean-" Sam protested, seemingly alarmed by the eagerness of the young officer in front of them. "Just get out of the way, c'mon-"

Dean could feel his little brother's huge paws pushing against his back, trying to shove him aside, but he didn't budge.

Sam had another thing coming if he seriously thought Dean was going to step aside and let this uniformed monkey with Parkinson get a clear shot at his injured and defenseless little brother.

Hell would freeze over before he'd let that happen.

Ignoring his brother's feeble attempts to get him to move aside, Dean glanced at the two other police men behind the freckled eager beaver in the front.

They were resting their hand on the butt of their holstered guns, sparks of excitement evident in their eyes as they waited for him to make a move.

It was rather obvious that despite working for the police, these men hadn't dealt with a situation like this very often before- their typical cases probably involving nothing more dangerous than the occasional drunk teenager.

And now they were twitchy and nervous and eager to shoot first and ask questions later.

Great. Just their kind of luck.

"STEP ASIDE, NOW!" the enraged officer bellowed, nose twitching and cheeks turning red with anger. "Do it now, or I'll shoot!"

"Dean!" Sam urged desperately, having realized how close the guy was to firing. "Get out of my way-"

Sam gave him a forceful shove from behind, causing him to stumble and grudgingly comply with the command. Dean clenched his jaw in defeat and took a half step to the left, reluctantly revealing his brother to the armed policemen. He was moving slowly- carefully, not wanting to give the guy any reason to act out, but the man's eyes widened an imperceptible amount as he took in the sight of Sam in front of him.

"What the hell is that on his chest?!" the cop demanded, glancing nervously between the two of them, taking in the blood on Sam's white dress shirt and the wound above his heart that had caused it.

"What have you two been up to? Did you do this to him?!" the red-head directing an accusing glare at Dean, who had to clench his fists to keep his own anger in check at the mere suggestion that he had been the one hurting Sam.

Sam swallowed, searching for an explanation, but Dean beat him to it, eyes sparking with fury.

"Alright, listen here, Chuckie- my partner just had a severe case of PTSD not even ten minutes ago and if you don't stop waving that freaking gun in his face, I'm gonna make you eat it. Do I make myself clear?!"

The police officers exchanged a fleeting glance, insecurity visible in their weary gaze and Dean used their confusion to go on. "How about you tell me what we're even getting accused off before you do something that you'll regret, huh?"

If there was any plausible excuse for the way Sam had acted earlier, it would be a post-traumatic, psychotic breakdown, right?

Dean thought his idea had been pretty clever, especially considering that it wasn't all too far-fetched for a young FBI agent to have PTSD, until the police officer pulled back the hammer of his gun, features twisting into a skeptic grimace.

"As if you don't fucking know _Agent McCoy..._ Why should I believe a single word that comes from your mouth? We just got an anonymous call about two male criminals impersonating FBI agents and _guess what_,- the descriptions fit your profiles right down to the last detail."

Dean swallowed, mind racing as he exchanged a worried glance with his brother. Anonymous call? But nobody even knew that they were here…

Dean opened his mouth, not wanting to be too obvious with how taken aback he was by the news, when officer Joneson suddenly came rushing into the room.

"What's going on in here?" the captain of the police department wanted to know, looking from the red haired officer to Dean and Sam, eyes widening slightly when his sight caught on Sam's blood-drenched dress shirt.

"O'Brian?" the man demanded in a sharp tone, causing the red haired police officer to whirl around, aim never wavering from Dean's chest.

"These men are not FBI agents, we just received the information by an anonymous caller and checked their records. There's no official entry for either of them in the database."

Joneson's forehead creased as he took in the information and Dean decided that he needed to do something, before the whole situation would get further out of hand.

"Look, I don't know who called you or why, but my name's Dean McCoy and I've been with the FBI for almost 8 years now. This is my partner Sam Smith and he just had a fucking panic attack… That's why he freaked out earlie-"

"**NO**!" the police officer with the ginger hair screamed, whole frame shaking with aggravation. "_He's lying! He's nothing but a dirty imposter, can't you see it in his eyes?!_"

Okayyyy… Well somebody had definitely just gone completely coocoo for cocoa puffs.

Dean's mouth fell open and instinctively he met Sam's panicked gaze in a quick sideways glance, finding the same fear in his little brother's eyes that was pumping through his own body.

Because seriously. What the ever-loving hell was wrong with the people in this town?

"Reign it in, O'Brian! This situation does not require a weapon's discharge and even if it did- _**you**_ sure as hell wouldn't be the one to open fire." Joneson snapped in a stern, commanding tone that didn't leave any room for arguments. "You pull another stunt like that in my office and you can kiss your badge goodbye, kid. I mean it."

Apparently it was the wrong thing to say, because the next second O'Brian's feeble grasp on his composure slipped, revealing an almost manic aggressiveness as he whirled around with a vicious snarl and fired his gun at a completely shocked and defenseless Joneson.

The shot that rang out was deafening and Dean's heart leaped into his throat as he ducked and launched to the side, knocking Sam to the ground with him and seeking shelter behind the sturdy mahogany table that was Joneson's workstation.

Frantic screams rang out, followed by more shooting, followed by the wet and rattling breath of somebody who had just been gravely wounded, lungs probably filling with blood as he tried to gasp in a shaky breath.

"_What the hell did you do, Sean?! Are you out of your freaking mind, man?!_" another male voice rang out over the jumble of yells and a crying police woman dictating the address of the police station into the speaker of a phone.

Calling for an ambulance.

Shit.

That could only mean that Joneson had been hit by that bullet… that he was probably going to die before the EMTs even got here.

Dean pursed his lips, looking down to meet Sammy's wide-eyed and panicked gaze, as he searchingly waited for Dean to give him directions about what they should do.

Dean pulled his own pearl-handled gun from its holster, ready to fight his way out of the office, when a rage-filled scream suddenly boomed through the air, rattling his bones with the force of its volume.

Sam cried out in pain next to him, hands shooting up to cover his ears, when the window glass suddenly burst into a million pieces, glass flying everywhere.

"_AVE SATANA. HEAC IRA DEORUM EST_" the voice echoed loudly through the confinement of the room, Dean's ears ringing with the words, as he hurriedly grabbed a pen and a piece of paper from Joneson's desk and started scribbling.

"_OMNE FLAMMANS FLAMMA PURGATUS, DOMINE EXTINCTIONIS ET SIGNUM RENEGERATIONIS, IN MEA MANU ENS INIMICUM EDAT_!"

The roaring Latin ended almost as abruptly as it had started, leaving Dean completely shell-shocked, whole body shaking and heart beating a mile-a-minute in his chest.

Sam didn't look much better, eyes squeezed shut and body rocking back and forth beneath the wooden table they had used for shelter.

Trying to get a grip on his own emotions, Dean took a deep breath, before clutching his gun and slowly untangling himself from where he was crammed up against Sam's side, knowing he needed to see for himself what had happened and if there were any survivors.

Sam's eyes widened as he fumbled for his own gun, wanting to be able to back his brother up in case that they had to face the demon- or whatever else the guy was.

With the other hand he was fishing for his phone, trembling fingers frantically looking for the audio of the Latin banishing spell he had recorded about a year ago.

Dean straightened up slowly, arms extended and hands clutching his gun, as his eyes frantically scanned the room for the officer who had started the shooting.

His emerald eyes widened when he took in a total of 3 bodies littering the floor.

Joneson lay sprawled across the wooden laminate like a puppet with its strings cut off, one hand clutching at his throat, where the O'Brian's bullet must have grazed his artery.

Dark red blood had spread around his head and torso like a crimson halo and his eyes were wide and unblinking.

Dean had no doubt about the fact that he was dead. Next to him lay another police officer, who must have been shot in the crossfire and was most likely also dead. But Dean's eyes were glued to the person in the middle of the room.

O'Brian, the red-haired officer who had been screaming Latin only seconds before stood completely unmoving, his pupils wide and his eyes protruding from their sockets as he choked out a gasping breath and then crumpled to the ground.

"Suffocation," Sam uttered in a rushed breath, gun shaking in his grasp as he tried to take aim. "He fucking suffocated… Just like Annie."

For a moment Dean didn't comprehend what his brother was saying, but then it suddenly hit him. Annie Cooper.

The woman who had been found dead in her house.

The woman who had screamed herself to death.

And now it had just become painstakingly clear that this guy was their next victim.

Whatever the hell happened here- it must have been pretty much the same thing that had happened to their first victim.

Dean exchanged a frightful look with his brother, realizing Sam must have come to the same conclusion.

Then he drove a shaking hand through his dirty blond hair and bit his lower lip, eyes roaming the room as if they could find a solution for this whole fiasco scribbled somewhere on the walls.

"We gotta get out of here…"

"But-" Sam stammered, shaking his head. "We need to see if there are other victims, Dean- we need to see if anybody needs our help-"

"No," Dean grabbed his brother's discarded jacket from the ground and chucked it at him, before holstering his gun.

"No, we need to get going, okay? Cause whatever just happened- whatever we're dealing with here- It's clearly playing in a higher league than us, okay? Which means we gotta get the hell out of here before it turns us to toast… "

"When are the things we hunt ever in the same league as we are?" Sam protested with an incredulous look on his face, unwilling to accept the fact that his brother was about to turn his back on a case.

Dean's features turned to stone. "Listen, Sam. This isn't up for discussion. We got a room full of dead cops INSIDE a police station full of _living_ cops, who will be hell-bent on getting us into a maximum security prison once they open up this fucking door."

Dean pointed towards the door that separated the office from the rest of the police department as if to emphasize his point. It must have been slammed close and locked from the inside during the chaotic battle that took place, because apart from the muffled screaming and the rattling on the doorknob, the rest of the department was cut off from the horrors that had taken place in here.

Finally seeing reason Sam let himself be dragged over to the window, spreading his jacket over the stuck shards of broken glass that still clung to the frame and climbing out into the cool evening air.

Dean followed him out swiftly, but not before grabbing the piece of paper with his scribbling from the ground and snatching the discarded case file of Annie Cooper's death from the table top.

They would need that for later.

Once they had sneaked around the building to the Impala and gotten in, Sam buried his face in his hands, visibly shaken by what had happened.

Dean wanted nothing more than to comfort him, but there was no time.  
>They needed to get away from here before anybody noticed their absence and started looking for them.<p>

"We'll figure this out, Sammy," Dean sighed as he speedily maneuvered the car out of the parking lot and floored the gas pedal on his way to the highway.

"You'll be alright, I promise," he added hollowly, not really sure who of them he was trying to convince.

* * *

><p>Sam's heart was pounding away like a drum in his chest as he sat forlornly on the dingy mattress of his motel bed and rubbed at the bandage covering his chest.<p>

"Quit it," Dean slapped his prodding fingers away with a motherly scowl before reclaiming his seat at the small kitchenette, where he had pictures of Annie Cooper's crime scene spread out in front of him.

"You getting anywhere with the incantation?" the older brother asked, flipping through the threadbare pages of their Dad's hunting journal. Sam squinted down at his own notes and bit his lower lip with a heavy sigh.

"Yeah. Looks like a summoning spell," he stated, basing his theory on the few words he had already been able to translate from the Latin phrases O'Brian had screamed before dying.

"The first one's easy. AVE SATANA basically just means that he's addressing Satan."

"How reassuring…" Dean murmured, voice dripping heavily with sarcasm. "So this guy tried to summon the devil himself? Well he certainly knows how to haul out the big guns…"

Sam shook his head slowly, wrapping the ratty blanket tighter around his quivering shoulders.

"It gets even worse… The next part says HEAC IRA DEORUM EST, which basically translates to _'this is the wrath of gods'_…"

Dean swallowed, features turning grim. "You mean IRA like the brand new set of scars on your chest?"

"Exactly like that," Sam confirms in a somber tone, knowing that the last part of the incantation was even worse. And really, who could have thought that after everything that happened, their day could get even crappier!

"Now get this, OMNE FLAMMANS FLAMMA PURGATUS means forever-burning fire of-"

"Purgatory?" Dean suggested but Sam immediately shook his head in denial.

"Well the root word is the same, but no, actually it means purification. He goes on with DOMINE EXTINCTIONIS- which means _lord of destruction_ and then continues with IN MEA MANU ENS INIMICUM EDAT-" Sam sighed again, meeting Dean's eyes before continuing with the English translation. "_**Spring forth from my hand and throttle my enemy.**_"

A shiver wrecked down his spine when he said the words out loud, their undeniable connection to the deaths of their victims now even more obvious than before.

"You gotta be kidding me," Dean groaned. "_Throttling_?"

Sam sighed. "That's what it says on here…"

"So we can cross witches off the list then?"

Sam tilted his head to the side, biting his lower lip in contemplation.

It wasn't exactly untypical for witches to use spells or incantations and they've been known to worship Satan before or be involved in satanic cults, but this whole thing was getting too much out of hand for it to be something as simple as black magic or spell work.

No, they had to be dealing with something else, something more powerful than a witch.

More dangerous, too.

"I'm not sure but with everything we have seen today, I'd say we're dealing with a very powerful demon or a demigod…"

"Goddamnit…" Dean sighed, rubbing a hand along the edge of his jawbone. "Why can't we be hunting a ghost or something for a change? I mean, why do we always get stuck with the crappy jobs?"

Sam shook his head, before taking a tentative sip from the glass of water Dean had put on his nightstand and then hurriedly switched on the audio of the black and white TV they had left on for an extra source of light when he noticed that the News channel was on.

"Dean, look. They are broadcasting a news report on what happened."

His brother immediately got up from his seat and walked over to stand by Sam's side.

_"-3 police officers of the Wichita Police Department lost their lives in the crossfire during the attempted arrest of two criminals who were impersonating FBI agents."_ The woman began describing the occurrences. _"However, what is an even greater cause for concern for the local authorities is that the murderers apparently left their signature trademark in form of a single word they carved into one of the corpses' forehead."_

Sam's whole body tensed as he leaned forward, eyes wild as he waited for the newscaster to go on. There hadn't been any visible marks on any of the bodies when he and Dean had bailed from the police station...

_"The word "GULA" was reported to have been scratched into the skin of 23-year-old Sean O'Brian who had only been working for the department for 3 weeks before this tragic event cost him his life. Could this cruelty be indicating that we're dealing with seriel kil-"_

Gula... Sam didn't even consciously hear the woman's voice anymore, too focused on mulling the word over in his head.

Then his breath caught in his throat, when a thought suddenly occurred to him. Looking up to meet his brother's gaze, Sam's eyes went wide with the realization of what they had unwittingly stumbled across.

"I think I know what we're dealing with here, Dean."

"You do?" Dean's eyebrows rose in surprise at his brother's revelation.

"Yeah," Sam nodded enthusiastically. "Remember the guy at the gas station? How angry he was for no apparent reason? And the clerk who tried to rip you off- then Annie Conners, Joneson and then O'Brian?"

Dean's frown deepened at Sam's hurried explanation, but he didn't understand what point his brother was trying to make. "Yeah I remember them. Where are you getting with this?"

"They were angry Dean! They were wrathful. And wrath- or _ira_ is the Latin name of one of the seven deadly sins."

"So what? We are dealing with some fucked up version of _SEVEN_ then?" Dean snorted out, flopping onto the mattress beside his brother.

Sam closed his eyes at the comparison to the movie. He only hoped they would come out of this without getting decapitated in the process. "I think so."

"And _gula_…?" Dean wanted to know, taking Sam's silence for the affirmation it was.

"Is the Latin term for gluttony or… overindulgence," Sam gave back slowly. "I'm pretty sure that's what we're gonna have to deal with next."

**TBC...  
><strong>

* * *

><p>I was so happy to hear that the show got renewed for season11 that I had to finish this chapter and vent my emotion! :D Sorry for the long wait, I really hope this chapter turned out okay... So many things happening all at once, I guess that's why it was so hard to write^^ Well the boys are in a tight spot now with the police breathing down their necks and the mysterious deaths occurring all over town and what's wrong with Sam? There are just so many questions. Who's up for more? Please tell me what you thought! Reviews are highly appreciated :D<p> 


	3. Gluttony

**Title:** Tainted

**Chapter 3 – Gluttony**

* * *

><p>Waking up was a torturously slow process.<p>

His mind was muddled with sleep as he came back to his senses, scrunching his nose and wrestling with the ratty blanket of the motel bed.

Cracking one of his eyes open, Sam squinted against the bright light of the flickering TV screen and found Dean slumped over the coffee table, his head pillowed on one of his arms, while his other one dangled limply from his shoulders, fingers brushing lightly against the carpeted floor.

Sam rubbed a hand over his jaw and shot a quick glance at his watch before straightening up in bed.

It was just after 6 in the morning, which meant he had probably caught a good 4-5 hours of sleep.

He must have nodded off during research; the horrifying events of the past day finally having drained every ounce of energy he had left and letting him sink into a deep state of oblivion.

Absent-mindedly, Sam took notice of the fact that he had been covered up with a blanket at some point during the night and that his shoes had been pulled of his sock-clad feet.

Smiling softly, Sam shot his sleeping brother a fond look before getting up from bed and strolling over to the motel kitchenette.

Dean was a notorious light sleeper, something that often came as a side-effect to their job and the fact that he hadn't woken up by the sound of Sam's approaching footsteps was proof enough of his current level of exhaustion.

"Hey," Sam spoke softly, not wanting to startle him as he touched Dean's shoulder and gave it a light squeeze. Dean's reaction was instantaneous.

His eyes flew wide open and he shot up in his seat, fingers immediately fumbling for a weapon in an instinctive gut-reaction to smite any potential danger before it could harm him.

"Dean, woah, it's me. It's just me, okay?" Dean blinked until recognition finally cleared the veil of confusion from his verdant eyes. "Sammy? You alright?"

"Yeah… I'm fine, Dean. Why don't you go lie down in bed for another hour or so while I take a shower and get us some coffee?"

Dean's lips twitched at the prospect of coffee and Sam smiled a little, knowing the extent of his brother's caffeine addiction only all too well.

Sometimes the promise of breakfast was the only thing that could get Dean to get up in the morning.

Not this time, however. Because this wasn't just their every-day run-of-the-mill kind of ghost hunt or monster chase and they both knew it.

Sam should have known better than to assume that his brother would willingly waste his time with sleep when Sam had already gotten hurt in the process of their investigation and was likely to suffer again if they didn't get to the bottom of this case soon.

"Naw, I'm up, I'm awake…" Dean yawned tiredly, straightening up in his seat and rubbing his neck with a wince of pain. Sam was sure it must be stiff after having spent hours in this uncomfortable position.

As if to further prove his point, Dean got up from the chair, swaying lightly on his feet from exhaustion and dizziness. Had he even eaten anything the night before?

Knowing Dean, he had probably spent a large part of the night awake, watching over Sam in case the invisible force decided to strike again and forgoing his own needs to ensure Sam's safety.

"Dean… " Sam protested, rolling his eyes at his brother's stubbornness. "You're dead on your feet. Get some sleep, okay?"

"But the case–"

"The case can wait another hour or two. It's only six in the morning." Sam sighed, giving his brother a gentle shove towards the still perfectly untouched bed and chuckling softly when Dean practically face planted into the mattress, grumbling something incomprehensible while snuggling deeper into his pillow.

Sam fondly shook his head, before grabbing a set of fresh clothes as well as his shaving kit and shampoo from his duffel.

Then, halfway across the room he suddenly turned around; taking off the discarded blanket from his bed and spreading the sleep-warm fabric over Dean's curled up body.

Who said he couldn't take care of his big bro for a change?

* * *

><p>"What can I get you honey?" the overly enthusiastic waitress at the diner asked around the chewing gum in her mouth.<p>

Sam forced his gaze away from her glossy pink lipstick and met her expectant gaze over the counter.

"Two coffees, please. One black and can you make the other one a caramel cappuccino?"

"Sure thing, sugar pants," she turned away with a wink. "Anything to eat for you as well?"

Sam glanced down at the variety of sweet bakeries they had displayed in the showcase to his left and bit his lower lip in contemplation, eyes flying over the labeled descriptions.

"Uhhm… yeah, actually. Do you have pie?"

Her fake eyebrows flew up to her greying hairline. "Is this a trick question? Sweetie, this place is called _Pie Paradise_, what do you think?"

"Oh… right, sorry. I didn't realize… can you give me a slice of apple then? To go, please."

The waitress smacked her lips, scribbling his order onto a notepad and scurried off towards the coffee machine.

Sam sighed and had a look around the diner, noticing how crowded it was for a regular Thursday morning.

"You got some kind of special offer today?" Sam asked when the waitress came back, balancing two Styrofoam coffee cups and a plastic box with Dean's pie in her hands.

"Not that I know of, sweetie. Why are you asking?"

Sam frowned, taking another look around the buzzing diner, glancing at the various occupied tables with people stuffing their faces and gulping down coffee like their lives depended on it.

His mind immediately drew the connection to the news report they had seen the night before.

Gluttony. That's what had been carved into the crazy cop's forehead.

And now all of these people were jugging down breakfast in a no-name town on the outskirts of Kansas. That just couldn't be a coincidence…

Sam put a lid on the coffee cups, feigning innocence as he shrugged at the waitress. "Doesn't it seem a bit…busy to you? I mean more so than you'd expect on a regular work day?"

The waitress opened her mouth in response, but before she got the chance to answer, some guy behind Sam started ranting.

"You think you can speed it up a little, beanstalk? You're not the only one standing in that line, so hurry up and get a move on!"

Sam turned around to look into the angry eyes of a forty-something year old man with sparse hair in a FedEx uniform.

He was clearly on his way to work and- judging from the dark rings beneath his eyes, Sam figured the guy needed the coffee even more than he did.

"Sorry. Didn't realize I was holding up the line. I'll be done in a second."

After everything that had happened the night before, Sam wasn't really sure if he wanted to start another fight with anybody as long as they were still working the case.

And he _had_ kind of taken his time with their coffee…

Hurriedly slamming a couple of bills on the counter and saying his thanks to the waitress, Sam stepped aside and headed for the exit, only to be stopped again the next second, when a young woman to his left jumped up from her seat, fingers covering her mouth and face sickly pale as she stumbled over her own feet, trying to get out of her booth.

Sam rushed forward and caught her before she could fall. "Hey, woah- take it easy. You gonna be sick?"

The woman's eyes widened in panic as she looked up at Sam and frantically nodded her head. Shit.

Thinking quickly, Sam grabbed a decorative vase from the adjacent table and tossed the flowers to the ground, figuring it would have to do for now.

The young woman held onto the empty vase with sweaty fingers and started heaving the second Sam had pushed it into her hands.

Scrunching his nose in disgust, Sam averted his gaze and somewhat awkwardly patted the girl on the back. "Okay, that's good. Just let it all out… You'll feel better in a second."

He wasn't particularly good at comforting- that was usually Dean's specialty, especially when it came to children or teens…

But Sam could sympathize with the awkwardness of the girl's current situation and he wasn't going to let her suffer alone.

Throwing a hurried glance into the diner, Sam's eyes suddenly widened upon realizing that while he himself was sickened by the smell and sound of somebody throwing up right next to him, the other patrons didn't seem fazed by it in the least.

Just the opposite was true, people kept stuffing their mouths, never once looking up from the plate in front of them as they munched happily away on their pancakes and bacon and cheese rolls, while this young girl proceeded to upchuck her own meal right next to them.

Grimacing, Sam locked his jaw and shook his head. Oh there was definitely some kind of connection to their case.

When the girl's heaving finally came to an end, Sam gently guided her over to the bathroom and opened the door for her. "You gonna be alright on your own?"

"Yeah… thanks for– …you know... Jesus this is so embarrassing–"she stammered, not really looking him in the eye.

Sam gave her a reassuring smile and shook his head abidingly. "Hey it's alright. I'm just glad you're feeling better now."

The girl groaned as she stared up at him with widening eyes. "Oh god, you're hot _and_ nice… Excuse me while I curl up in a corner and die of shame… "

Sam laughed self-consciously and shook his head. "I've been through worse. Don't worry okay? It's really no trouble."

He gave her a friendly wave in goodbye before leaving her alone and turning – for the second time now- towards the exit of the diner.

Whatever the hell was going on here, this sure as hell was only just the beginning.

Sam had a feeling that this wasn't the last he had seen of the diner… but for now, he needed to get back to his brother.

* * *

><p>Dean was already up when Sam pushed through the door of their motel room, car key clenched between his teeth as he balanced a tray of coffee in one hand and a plastic bag filled with food in the other.<p>

"Took you long enough, Samantha…" Dean complained grouchily, snitching one of the coffee cups from his tray and closing his eyes in absolute bliss after taking his first sip from the strong brew.

"You're welcome." Sam gave back, voice heavy with sarcasm.

He threw the car keys at his brother and Dean snatched them without even looking.

"I brought you pie, but since you're being a jerk, I might as well just eat it myself."

"Pie?" Dean's eyes widened at the mention of his favorite treat. "You bought me pie?"

"Don't look so surprised… I've done it before, you know?" Sam pulled the plastic box from the bag and held it out towards Dean. "Apple. I got some rolls and other stuff in here as well, figured we'd haul up in the room for a bit longer until things calmed down out there."

Sam couldn't be sure his brother had heard him over the sound of his own munching as he dug into the pie.

A low sound of satisfaction gurgled up from his brother's throat as he licked some apple sauce from the corner of his lips.

"Dude, seriously. Go get a separate room with that thing, you're making me uncomfortable…" he shook his head with a roll of his eyes and slipped out of his jacket.

"You found anything useful while I was gone?"

"Ac'tly yh' I d'd–" Dean muttered unintelligibly from around a fork full of pie. Sam shot him an annoyed look.

"I swear it's like living with a four-year-old sometimes… Wanna run that one by me again, Dean?"

Ignoring his little brother's bitching, Dean grabbed a stack of papers from his bed and handed it over without letting go of the precious apple pie.

"I said, 'actually, yeah I did'," he repeated once he had swallowed down, and pointed towards a complicated pencil sketch at the corner of a dog-eared paper.

Sam frowned as he took in the intricate drawing with all of its details.

It was an ancient heptagram, looking similar to the inverted pentagram used for devils traps and black magic, with the only difference of it having seven corners instead of five. Drawn into each of the corners was a small symbol, and in the center of it was a Libra sign with an eye in the middle.

Feeling his guts churn in discomfort, Sam reverently retraced the drawing, feeling each pencil line against his sensitive finger tips. "Where did you take this from?"

"I went through our contacts last night, calling in a few favors. You remember that librarian Dad used to work with in Colorado?"

Sam eyebrows scrunched together in deep thought. "You mean Deborah? The publicist he used to have a thing for?"

Dean grimaced at the reminder.

It had been quite a while since they had last heard of the woman, but Sam still vividly remembered her wavy blond hair and her friendly smile.

She had been a widowed hunter, much like John himself and maybe that was the reason why they had hit it off from the beginning.

Sam had been too young to understand the awkward tension between his father and the strange woman at first but as he grew older he came to realize that there was definitely more going on between the two of them than just being hunting buddies and helping each other out occasionally.

And while it was only normal for their father to hook up with other women after the death of their mother, the thought of him doing so was still disconcerting, even now that he and Dean were both grown-ups.

Especially for Dean, their father's random flings had been a sore topic that was never to be addressed by any of them, so to have him suddenly call one of the women John had hooked up with was more than surprising to Sam.

Dean had always felt as if John was somehow betraying the memory of their mother by dating other women and that inert hostility was reinforced in Deborah's case by the fact that her appearance showed so many similarities to what Mary had looked like before she died.

Even Sam, who was generally less sensitive on the topic of their Mom, had immediately noticed the resemblance between the two women and felt a little weary of Deborah, fearing his father might look for some kind of a surrogate wife.

Of course, that had never been John's intention.

They never actually asked their dad what had happened to Deborah when the two of them stopped seeing each other, but thinking back on it now, Sam suspected he hadn't given his father enough credit in terms of the deep and unabiding love he had held for their mother.

There had never been another woman in their dad's life after Mary.

Just like there had never really been another woman for Sam after Jessica.

However, all of that had been a long, long time ago and to be honest- Sam hadn't even given Deborah another thought in the past 15 years with everything else that had been going on in their lives.

"Yeah, I remember her. Didn't even think we still had her number…"

"Well, we didn't," Dean threw in, licking his fingers and wiping his lips on a napkin. "I found her name listed in an online archive and figured I'd give her a call. Turns out she had a whole collection of books on the seven deadly sins. She sent me a few scans with interpretations and told me to send you her regards."

"Did she ask about–" Sam started, swallowing past the sudden lump in his throat.

As per usual, Dean only needed to take one look at him to know what he meant to say.

"Yeah," Dean sniffed, massaging the base of his nose as if to prevent a headache from spreading. "First thing she wanted to know. She seemed pretty distraught over the news…" he snorted humorlessly. "One more person to believe John Winchester was invincible."

Sam contemplated that for a second, unsure how to feel about the whole topic of Deborah and his dad, before clearing his throat and redirecting their conversation towards something less directly associated to their past.

"So, this figure…" he started, gesturing vaguely towards the sketch in his hands.

Dean stepped up beside him, shoulder and hips brushing his own. "Yeah, let me show you. So according to Deborah this thing represents the balance of good and evil in our world, therefore the scale in the middle."

Sam nodded, having figured as much.

"The corners signify the seven sins- each having its own symbol and here in the outer circle-" Dean pointed towards the other side of the heptagram.

"This is a depiction of the seven virtues- the counterpart to each one of the sins…"

Sam pursed his lips, eyebrows shooting up in surprise. "Alright, fine… so how is any of this helpful to us?"

Dean flashed him his trade-mark grin, before continuing with his explanation.

"Well apparently these symbols are used for all kinds of spells and incantations and now get this- they have been found on victim's bodies before, carved into their flesh. But the police pegged it as the work of some religiously fanatic serial killer and investigations have been stopped soon after."

"When did that happen?" Sam wanted to know, meeting his brother's intent gaze. "Was it here in Kansas?"

Dean shook his head. "No, it happened in Missouri about 30 years ago… but Deborah sent me some old articles on the case and the connection is unmistakable. So whatever killed these people back then… is likely to have returned and is probably responsible for this whole mess in Wichita."

Sam took a deep breath, stroking a tugging a loose hair strand behind his ear."Well that's good, right? If we can get a closer look at the case files, it sure would be helpful."

"Yeah…" Dean agreed. "And I thought about checking out the morgue, tonight. Getting a closer look at the dead cops and at that first victim-"

"Annie Cooper," Sam helpfully supplied. "So should we split up then? You wanna go check out the morgue while I go looking for that file?"

Dean grimaced at the suggestion and Sam sighed in annoyance, immediately knowing where his brother's hesitancy to separate was coming from.

"Look, I'm fine, alright? I will survive a couple of hours on my own."

"You don't know that, Sammy," Dean gave back, features twisting into a mask of stony reluctance."You already got attacked one time, who says it's not going to happen again? Besides, when has it ever worked well for us to split up on a job? Haven't you seen any teenager horror movie, _ever_? The moment they decide to go their separate ways, they are basically destined to get chopped into little pieces or something…"

Sam rolled his eyes. "Sorry to disappoint, but this isn't a teenage horror movie, Dean. And I'm a thirty-something year old hunter with tons of experience so give me some fucking credit, alright?"

And of course, because Dean was Dean, he had to crack a fucking joke in the middle of a serious aspect of their discussion.

"Thirty-_something_, huh?" the older Winchester smirked, one eyebrow cocked as he teased his younger brother about his age. "Don't worry, grandpa, I won't tell anybody your real age, if you're that embarrassed about it."

Despite himself, Sam found himself fighting a small smile. "Shut up. You're four years older than me."

"Yeah, but I'm young at heart," Dean winked at him before strolling off towards the bathroom. Sam watched after him for a second, before reverting his gaze to the sketch in his hand.

They still hadn't talked about what happened at the diner, Sam suddenly realized.

With a heavy sigh, he dropped back onto the comforter of his lumpy bed and plopped back against his pillow, allowing his eyes to fall closed for a second.

He had started to feel a little queasy ever since he returned from that diner.

Over the past half an hour or so the feeling had intensified. "You alright?" Dean asked when he exited the bathroom. "You look a little pale…"

Damn' his brother for being so perceptive. "Yeah, no. I'm fine… just feeling a little dizzy."

Sam played it down, not wanting to spur his brother's worry any further by telling him how crappy he actually felt at the moment.

"You want some water?" Dean gently asked and didn't wait for an answer before handing Sam an unopened bottle of mineral water.

Not trusting anything to stay down, given how sick Sam suddenly felt, the younger Winchester swallowed drily and shook his head in denial. "I- I'm sure it will blow over, just give me a moment…"

Instantly suspicious, Dean inched closer and went into a crouch before Sam's sprawled out body.

Without warning, he reached out to rest a warm palm against his little brother's forehead, testing the temperature.

When everything seemed to be normal, Dean's examining hand moved to the nape of Sam's neck and gently squeezed it in reassurance. "Hey, I'm just gonna get you a wet cloth from the bathroom real quick, okay?"

Sam nodded, unable to form words out of fear he would start throwing up.

Where the hell had the sudden burst of sickness come from? Two minutes ago, Sam had still been feeling perfectly fine.

Unwittingly, the memory from the girl in the diner resurfaced from the corner of his mind.

Oh no...

"Dean–" Sam croaked out and then moaned when his stomach muscles contracted violently. He gasped out a shocked breath and squeezed his eyes shut against the unexpected pain, tears pooling behind his lids. "Fuck-gah–"

"Hey, hey- what's happening?" Dean's hands were on him again a second later, but instead of the usual comfort they brought, Sam only felt burning agony wherever his brother's fingers brushed against his skin. Scrambling away from the touch, he choked on a breath and started dry-heaving.

"Woah! Okay- easy there Sammy- take it easy…" the softly spoken stream of words was nothing but distant background noise to Sam's vicious retching as he relieved himself over the edge of the bed and all over the carpeted motel floor.

Dean never once strayed from his side during the humiliating act, hands drawing comforting circles against the back of Sam's sweat soaked shirt and mumbling senseless words of reassurance.

"Oh-gawd… I- I'm sorry Dean…" Sam spat a glob of spittle to the ground, trying to get rid of the rancid taste in his mouth, eyes averted and cheeks glowing with shame.

He could relate now –more than before- to what the girl went through at that diner.

Because throwing up in front of his brother- the one person that knew him better than anyone in the entire world and had pretty much seen him in every possible condition before- and a room full of complete strangers was not even up for comparison.

"Shut up, Sammy," Dean gently chided, running the cool cloth across his face to wipe away any remaining traces of saliva and vomit, much like a worried mother would do with her child. "You finished?"

Sam nodded shakily, even though his stomach churned at the sight and odor of his own barf.

Jesus, it was all over the place.

"This is so gross…" he muttered miserably, not even aware of having said the words out loud until Dean snorted in response.

"Tell me about it, kiddo. I think you managed to get some into my boots."

"I'm sorry–" Sam apologized meekly, feeling stupidly guilty for something he didn't really have any control over.

"Don't sweat it. Not like I've never cleaned up after you before. Just like old times, right?" Dean dead-panned with a smirk but all Sam could manage was a half-hearted upwards twitch of his lips.

"What's wrong…?" Dean asked, upon noticing Sam's disheartenment. "You feeling sick again- want me to get the trash can?"

"No, it's not that–" Sam was quick to reassure his brother. "Just…"

"Just what?"

"At the diner today… there was this girl… she threw up all over the place."

Dean didn't quite get the point he was trying to make. "So what, you think she gave you the bug or something?"

Sam actually managed a dark chuckle as he stared up at his brother from behind half-lidded eyes.

"No Dean. I think it might have something to do with the case… Gluttony, remember? The whole diner was crammed with people today and they were stuffing their faces as if they were starving. You should have seen it. "

His brother took a deep breath, closing his eyes as he took in the news. "And you're only just telling me this now, why?" Dean asked angrily, throwing his hands in the air in obvious annoyance.

"I'm sorry… we were talking about other stuff and I just kind of… forgot," Sam apologized softly, rubbing a hand against his sore stomach.

Dean ran a hand through his hair, messing up the blond strands, and plopped down heavily in one of the seats at the coffee table, as he tried to clean his shoes with the washcloth he had used on Sam earlier. Then he got up with a sigh, picking his own pillow from his bed and tossed it over the huge mess on the floor, covering up his brother's sickness.

"Alright, you know what? Why don't you stay here for a little while and rest, while I go check out that diner?"

Sam was shaking his head before Dean had even finished his suggestion. "No, out of the question. If you're going, I'm coming with."

"Sam, you just spewed stomach acid all over this place, I think I'm entitled to say that you're in no condition to tag along," Dean reasoned in his no-nonsense voice and Sam locked his jaw in frustration, knowing there was little sense in trying to argue with his big brother.

"What about the teenage horror movies?" he asked in a last attempt to keep his brother from leaving. "Don't expect me to come get you out of trouble, if some degenerated freak with a chainsaw threatens to chop you into pieces…"

Dean snatched his green jacket from the backrest of the chair he'd been sitting on and shot his brother a flashing grin. "Won't happen to me, little bro. The cool kids always survive, remember?"

Sam snorted incredulously.

"You call me if anything happens, alright? And if I say anything, I fucking mean _anything_, you hear me?"

Sam opened his mouth for a snarky response, but Dean was out of the door before he could hear it.

Flopping back against his pillow, Sam threw an arm over his face and groaned, feeling as if their whole situation was about to escalate even more…

After a second of contemplation, he straightened up in bed, swallowing against the new surge of dizziness as he climbed to his feet and grabbed his boots from where they lay discarded beneath his night stand.

Dean had another thing coming if he seriously thought Sam was just going to lie in bed and wait for his big brother to get himself into trouble.

They had a case to work. And they were gonna work it _together_.

**TBC…**

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><p><em>Hey guys! Thanks for reading! :) So I hope you're all still interested in the story and that you're up for more. I know not a lot happened in this chapter, but I promise more action in the next update, it's gonna revolve around gluttony and how the sin affects people. Sorry also for all the sickness^^ hope you weren't eating anything while reading this hahaha... xD Please don't forget to drop me a note if you liked the update! Reviews make my dayy and motivate me to update faster! :D (ps I honestly don't know the boys' age at this point. Do hell-years count?^^ jk)<em>


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